We celebrated a birthday last night. At the same time, families were torn apart, not 60 miles from us--hurt by injuries that came unexpected, and unexplained. I did not discount what was happening in Boston. In fact it is not just the physical proximity that makes this tragedy hit close to me.
My former employers main office was very near the finish line. For many of the more than 20 years that I worked for that company they held a wonderful family friendly gathering with a brunch, raffles for the kids, tickets to the Sox game and then gathering to watch the end of the Marathon. I have stood where people were standing yesterday. I have guided my children past that fencing on Marathon Day. I have taken my children, two under 5 at the time onto a crowded subway and stood cheek to cheek practically with strangers because that is Marathon Monday in Boston.
That company is no more and probably, the innocent joi de vivre of Marathon Monday in Boston is also no more. But I refuse to surrender joy utterly to those who would transform the world with shrapnel and hatred. So last night, after a quick prayer to the goddess and relief that at least so many personnel were on hand to help, I turned off the television. We had planned a surprise party and we had it regardless. An 8 year old died there. Yesterday, my son was leaving 8 behind and celebrating the on set of 9, the last of his single digit years.
To me, the ultimate way to deal with terrorists of any kind is not to be cowed. They will try to break our spirits. To make us jump at shadows and peer at our neighbors with distrust. Make us cancel dreams and derail our own opportunities with fear. I will not do that. I will live in hope and possibility and promise. And I will instill that in my children. Blessed be.
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